Hero of the Imperium, page 9
‘I don’t quite follow,’ I said, affecting mild curiosity. Movement out of the corner of my eye told me that our retreat had been cut off. A second group emerged from the alley mouth behind us. I started calculating the odds. If I made a move to draw the laspistol, they’d rush me, but I’d probably manage to get a shot off. If I took out the leader with it, and ran forward at the same time, I stood a good chance of breaking through the line and making a run for it. That assumed they’d be surprised or intimidated enough to hesitate, of course, and I was able to open up a decent lead. With any luck they’d turn on Divas, buying me enough time to get away, but I couldn’t be sure of that, so I continued to play for time and look for a better chance.
‘You’re here to take our world!’ the leader shouted. As he came forward fully into the light I could see that his face was painted blue, a delicate pastel shade. It should have made him look ridiculous, but the overall effect was somehow charismatic. ‘But you’ll never take our freedom!’
‘Your freedom is what we’re here to give you, you xeno-hugging moron!’ Divas broke free of my restraining arm, and lunged forward. ‘But you’re too brainwashed to see it!’
Great. So much for diplomacy. Still, while he was set on re-enacting Gannack’s Charge,15 I might be able to make a run for it.
No such luck, of course – the surrounding heretics drove in on us as a concerted wedge. I just managed to draw my laspistol and snap off a shot, taking out half the face of one of the group, which, I’m bound to say, didn’t make much of a difference to his overall personal charm, before an iron bar came down hard on my wrist. I’ve been in enough mêlées to have seen the blow coming, and to have ridden it, which saved me from a fracture or worse, but that didn’t help the pain, which exploded along my arm, deadening it. My fingers flew open, and I ducked, scrabbling after the precious weapon, but it was futile. A knee drove up into my ribs, slamming the breath from my lungs, and I was down, cold, hard rockcrete scraping the skin from my knuckles (the real ones anyway), and knowing I was a dead man unless I could get away somehow.
‘Toren!’ I screamed, but Divas had problems of his own by now, and I wasn’t going to get any help from that quarter. I curled up, trying to protect my vital organs, and tried frantically to get at my chainsword. Of course, I should have gone for that first, holding the mob at bay with it, but hindsight’s about as much use as a heretic’s oath, and now the bloody thing was trapped under my own bodyweight. I scrabbled frantically, feeling fists and boots thudding against my ribs. Luckily there were so many of them that they were getting in each others way, and my uniform greatcoat was thick enough to absorb some of the impact, or I’d have been in even worse shape than I was.
‘Greechaah!’ something shrieked, an inhuman scream that raised the hairs on the back of my neck, even under those conditions. My assailants hesitated, and I rolled clear, in time to see the largest of them yanked back by sheer brute force.
For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, but the pain in my ribs was all too real. A face dominated by a large hooked beak was gazing down at me, surmounted by a crest of quills that had been dyed or painted in some elaborate pattern, and hot, charnel breath washed across my face, making me gag.
‘You are comparatively uninjured?’ the thing asked, in curiously accented Gothic. It’s hard to convey in writing, but its voice was glottal, most of the consonants reduced to hard clicking sounds. It was perfectly understandable, mind you. My stupefaction was due entirely to the fact that something that looked like that was able to talk in the first place.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I croaked after a moment. Whenever you don’t have a clue what’s going on, I’ve always found, it never hurts to be polite.
‘That is gratifying,’ the thing said, and threw the heretic in its left hand casually away. The others were standing around aimlessly now, like sulky schola students when the tutor turns up to spoil the fun. Then it extended the same thin, scaly hand equipped with dagger-like claws towards me. After a heartstopping moment, I divined its intention, and accepted the proffered assistance in gaining my feet. As I did so, it turned to the sullen group of heretics.
‘This does not advance the greater good,’ it said. ‘Disperse now, and avoid conflict.’ Well, that was a challenge if ever I’d heard one. But to my surprise, and, I must admit, my intense relief, the little knot of troublemakers slunk away into the shadows. I eyed my rescuer a little apprehensively. He (or she – with kroot it’s impossible to tell, and only another kroot would care anyway) was slightly taller than I was, and still looked pretty intimidating. They’re tough enough to take on an ork in hand-to-hand combat, and I, for one, wouldn’t be betting on the greenskin, but if it wanted me dead, it would only have had to wait a few moments. I retrieved my fallen laspistol anyway, and tried to get my breath back.
‘I’m obliged to you,’ I said. ‘I must admit I don’t understand, but I’m grateful.’ I fumbled the weapon back into its holster with some difficulty. My arm was swelling up now, and my fingers felt thick and unresponsive. My rescuer made a curious clicking sound, which I assumed to be its equivalent of laughter.
‘Imperial officers murdered by tau supporters. Not a desirable outcome when the political situation is tense.’
‘Not a desirable outcome at any time when one of them is me,’ I said, and the xeno made the clicking noise again. That reminded me of Divas, and I staggered across to check on him. He was still breathing, but unconscious, a deep gash across his forehead. I’d picked up enough battlefield medicine to know he’d recover soon enough, but have the Emperor’s own headache when he woke, and that was fine with me – serve the idiot right for nearly getting me killed.
‘I have the honour to be Gorok, of the Clan T’cha,’ the creature said. ‘I am kroot.’
‘I know what you are,’ I said. ‘Kroot killed my parents.’ And thereby got me dumped in the Schola Progenium, and thence into the Commissariat, instead of following my undoubted true destiny of running some discreet little house of ill repute for slumming spirers and guilders up from the sump with more money than sense to splash around. I vaguely resented that, far more than the loss of my progenitors, who hadn’t been all that much to have around while they were alive, to be honest. But it never hurts to grab the moral high ground. My new acquaintance didn’t seem terribly concerned, though.
‘I trust they fought well,’ he said. I doubted it. They’d only joined the Guard to get out of the hive ahead of the Arbites, and would certainly have deserted the first chance they got, so there must be something in genetics after all.
‘Not well enough,’ I said, and Gorok clicked his amusement again. It was a slightly unnerving experience, feeling that something so unhuman was able to read me more readily than my own people.
‘Go carefully, commissar,’ he said. ‘And feed on your enemies. May we have no cause for conflict.’
Well, thank the Emperor for that. But somehow I doubted that it was going to happen, and of course, I was right. I was surprised, though, by how quickly the crisis came upon us.
Editorial Note:
It is perhaps worth pointing out at this juncture that the account of his background that Cain gives during his conversation with the kroot, although superficially plausible, doesn’t quite hold together on further examination. For one thing, admittance to the Schola Progenium is a privilege usually reserved for the offspring of officers. If he was indeed the son of common troopers his parents must have acquitted themselves with singular valour in the action which resulted in their demise, which, to say the least, seems remarkably at odds with his characterisation of them. Moreover, he implies that they enlisted and served together. Although mixed units are, as pointed out elsewhere, not unheard of in the Imperial Guard, it would have been extremely unusual for this to have been the case.
Cain makes frequent references throughout the archive to having spent his early years on a hive world, but never specifies which one; which, in turn, makes the verification of any such claims virtually impossible. However, no hive world of which I’m aware raised a mixed Guard regiment in the time frame consistent with his narrative.
We should also bear in mind that, by his own admission, the man was a pathological liar; given to saying anything he judged would be effective in manipulating his listeners.
FOUR
‘It’s often remarked that diplomacy is just warfare by other means. Our battles are no less desperate for being bloodless, but at least we get wine and finger food.’
– Tollen Ferlang, Imperial Envoy to
the Realm of Ultramar, 564-603 M41.
‘Are you sure you’re fit enough?’ Kasteen asked, a faint frown of concern appearing between her eyebrows. I nodded, and adjusted the sling I’d adopted for dramatic effect. It was black silk, matching the ebony hues of my dress uniform, and made me look tolerably dashing, I thought.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, smiling bravely. ‘The other fellows got the worst of it, thank the Emperor.’ In the day or two since the brawl with the heretics, my arm had more or less healed, the medicae assuring me that I’d suffered nothing worse than severe bruising. It was still stiff, and ached a little, but all in all I thought I’d come off lightly. Far better than Divas had, anyway. He’d spent the night in the infirmary, and still walked with a stick. For all that, though, he was as irritatingly cheerful as ever, and I’d been finding as many duties as I could to keep me out of the way whenever he suggested socialising again.
Luckily for me, he’d lost consciousness before the kroot turned up, so my reputation had received another unmerited embellishment. He assumed I’d seen off our assailants single-handed, and I saw no good reason to disabuse him. Besides, the conversation I’d had with the creature had been curiously unsettling, and I found myself reluctant to think about it too hard. I noticed Divas’s account had tactfully glossed over the reason why we were in the thick of the tau sympathizers’ heartland, so maybe they’d finally knocked a little common sense into him. Knowing Divas, though, I doubted it.
‘Well, that’s what they get for picking on the Imperium’s finest,’ Kasteen said, eager to buy the generally accepted version of events, as the latest evidence of my exceptional martial abilities reflected well on the regiment she led. She adjusted her own dress uniform, tugging the ochre greatcoat into place with every sign of discomfort. Like most Valhallans, she had an iceworlder’s tolerance for cold, and found even the mildest of temperate climates a little uncomfortable. Having spent most of my service with Valhallan regiments, I’d long become inured to their habit of air conditioning their quarters to temperatures which left the breath smoking, and tended to wear my commissarial greatcoat at all times, but they were still adjusting to the local conditions here with some difficulty.
‘If I might suggest, colonel,’ I said, ‘tropical order would be perfectly acceptable.’
‘Would it?’ She hovered indecisively, reminding me again how young she was to be in such an elevated position, and I felt an unaccustomed pang of sympathy. The prestige of the regiment was in her hands, and it was easy to forget how heavily the responsibility weighed on her.
‘It would,’ I assured her. She discarded the heavy fur cap, disordering her hair, and began to unfasten the coat. Then she hesitated.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘If they think I’m too informal it’ll reflect badly on all of us.’
‘For the Emperor’s sake, Regina,’ Broklaw said, his voice amused. ‘What sort of impression do you think you’ll make if you’re sweating like an ork all evening?’ I noted his use of her given name, the first time I’d heard him do so, with quiet satisfaction. Another milestone on the 597th’s march towards full integration. The real test would come with their first taste of combat, of course, and all too soon at that, but it was a good omen. ‘The commissar’s right.’
‘The commissar’s always right,’ I said, smiling. ‘It says so in the regulations.’
‘Well, I can’t argue with that.’ Kasteen pulled off the coat with evident relief, and smoothed the jacket beneath it. It was severely cut, emphasising her figure in ways that I was sure would attract the attention of most of the men in the room. Broklaw nodded approvingly.
‘I don’t think you need to worry about making an impression,’ he said, proffering a comb.
‘So long as it’s a good one.’ She smoothed her hair into place, and began buckling her weapon belt. Like mine it held a chainsword, but hers was ornately gilded, and worked with devotional scenes that decorated scabbard and hilt alike. The contrast with my own functional model, chipped and battered with far too much use for my liking, was striking. The holster at her other hip was immaculate too, the glossy black leather holding a bolt pistol which also gleamed from every highly polished surface and which was intricately engraved with icons of the saints.
‘No doubt about that,’ I assured her.
Her nervousness was quite understandable, as we’d been invited to a diplomatic reception at the governor’s palace. At least I had, and in the interests of protocol, the colonel of my regiment and an appropriate honour guard would also be expected. This sort of soirée was quite beyond her experience, and she was all too acutely aware that she was out of her depth.
I, on the other hand, was well within mine. One of the many benefits of being a Hero of the Imperium is that you’re regarded as a prime catch by a certain type of society hostess, which meant that I’d had plenty of opportunity to enjoy the homes, wine cellars, and daughters of the idle rich over the years, and had developed an easy familiarity with the world in which they moved. The main thing to remember, as I confided to Kasteen, was that they had their own idea of what soldiers were like, which had very little to do with the reality.
‘The best thing you can do,’ I said, ‘is not to get sucked in to all that protocol nonsense in the first place. They’ll expect us to get it wrong anyway, so to the warp with them.’ She smiled in spite of herself, and settled a little more comfortably into the upholstery of the staff car Jurgen had found somewhere. Armed with my commissarial authority, which let him requisition practically anything short of a battleship without argument, he’d developed quite a talent for acquiring anything I considered necessary for my comfort or convenience over the years. I never asked too many questions about where they’d come from, as I suspected some of the answers might have complicated my life.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ she said. ‘You’re a hero. I’m just–’
‘One of the youngest regimental commanders in the entire Guard,’ I said. ‘A position that, in my opinion, you hold entirely on merit.’ I smiled. ‘And my confidence is not lightly earned.’ It was what she needed to hear, of course; I’ve always been good at manipulating people. That’s one of the reasons I’m so good at my job. She began to look a little happier.
‘So what do you suggest?’ she said. I shrugged.
‘They might be rich and powerful, but they’re only civilians. However hard they try to hide it, they’ll be in awe of you. I’ve always found it best at these things just to be a plain, simple military man, with no interest in politics. The Emperor points, and we obey...’
‘Through the warp and far away.’ She finished the old song line with a smile. ‘So we shouldn’t offer any opinions, or answer questions about policy.’
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘If they want to talk, tell them a few stories about your old campaigns. That’s all they’re interested in anyway.’ That was certainly true in my case. I was sure I’d only been invited as patriotic window-dressing, to impress the tau with the calibre of the opposition they’d be facing if they were foolish enough to try and make a fight of it with us. Of course, in my case, that meant they could pretty much run their flag up the pole of the governor’s palace any time they felt like it, but that was beside the point.
‘Thank you, Ciaphas.’ Kasteen put her chin on her hand, and watched the street lights flicker past outside the window. That was the first time anyone in the regiment had addressed me in personal terms since I joined it. It felt strange, but curiously pleasant.
‘You’re welcome... Regina,’ I said, and she smiled.
(I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. I did come to think of her as a friend in the end, and Broklaw too, but that’s as far as it went. Anything else would have made both our positions untenable. Sometimes, looking back, I think that’s a shame, but there it is.)
The governor’s palace was in what the locals called the Old Quarter, where the fad for tau-influenced architecture which had infected the rest of the city had failed to take hold, so the vague sense of unease which had oppressed me since we arrived began to lift at last. The villas and mansions slipping past outside the car had taken on the familiar blocky contours of the Imperial architecture with which I’d been familiar all my life, and I felt my spirits begin to rise to the point where I almost began to anticipate enjoying the evening ahead of us.
Jurgen swung the vehicle through an elaborate pair of wrought-iron gates decorated with the Imperial aquila, and our tyres hissed over raked gravel as we progressed down a long, curving drive lit by flickering flambeaux. Behind us the truck with our honour guard followed, no doubt making a terrible mess of things with its heavy duty tyres, the soldiers making the most of the grandstand view afforded by its open rear decking to point and chatter at the sights. Beyond the flickering firelight, we could make out a rolling landscaped lawn, dotted with shrubs and ornamental fountains – automatically, some part of my mind was assessing the best way of using them for cover.
An audible gasp from Kasteen signalled that the palace itself had come into view from her side window, and a moment later, the curve of the drive brought it into my field of vision.
‘Not a bad little billet,’ I said, with elaborate casualness. Kasteen composed herself, wiping the bumpkin gawp off her face.
